


what you want.

by sleightofsight



Series: lily writes birthday fics ✵ [1]
Category: MCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - Fandom, Spider: Far From Home, quentin beck - Fandom
Genre: Degradation, F/M, Guns, Hate Sex, If You Squint you can see a Fear Kink, Important: Dubious Consent, Light Bondage, Manipulative Quentin Beck, Quentin Beck Being a Jerk, Rough Sex, Self-Insert, Sexual Coercion, Smut, Top Quentin Beck, Villain Quentin Beck, [leaps across room] not scientifically possible!, [voice from the back of the room] what if i don't like hate sex?, enjoy?? go crazy quentin stans we got content, he knows what he wants and he's going to get it, i apologize for writing this (ahahah), it's hate sex! you know it we love it i write it, no beta: we die like quentin beck did, noncon?? kinda at first if you squint but, takes place during the events of FFH, thigh riding, yes! i added quentin's gun in i have no shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleightofsight/pseuds/sleightofsight
Summary: You swore to him that you'd been turned around, you'd walked into the wrong building while looking for the bar- but that didn't matter much now, did it?You've seen too much, far too much, and now, Quentin Beck has to deal with you.
Relationships: Quentin Beck & Reader, Quentin Beck/Reader
Series: lily writes birthday fics ✵ [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078682
Comments: 13
Kudos: 13





	what you want.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feelingjaded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feelingjaded/gifts).



> welcome to lily can't keep her quentin beck thoughts to herself and has to share them with the world after making her partner whore knee at 4am. enjoy, please and thank you.
> 
> note: additional dialogue may be added along the way to the rehearsal scene we all know and love. ;-)

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗ 

Ever since that door slammed shut behind you, you knew you'd fucked up. 

And badly, this time. 

Maybe the first indicator of this being the wrong direction your friends had texted you to come to for Prague's Signal Light festival should've been the detail that there were no performers around this way, no cheering crowds except the last few stragglers- clearly drunk out of their minds already, but it was nearly twelve a.m.

Understandable.

But at that point, you were sick and tired of roaming the city for your friends, likely already drinking it up without you after a parade of people had swept you up in their flow and deposited you on the other side of town. They were already cheering loudly after the events of earlier tonight; where Mysterio and Night Monkey had saved the world from some sort of overgrown lava monster.

The news was buzzing all about it, and you had to admit, the footage news drones had captured of the fight was rather impressive. Not to mention Mysterio's abilities catching your attention, what with the lurid green glow accompanying his rather impressive magic. 

Another Tony Stark, another hero to capture the world's heart. They wouldn't soon forget Iron Man, however, from the graffiti thrown up across brick walls; you'd given lingering looks towards them as you passed by. 

Unfortunately, there was a low chance the parade you'd been trapped with would hear your voice above the din, and of course, they hadn't, leaving you stumbling out with a new neon purple glowstick necklace and streamers along your arms. 

Why couldn't you have ended up like this after a night of partying with your friends, not being swept up by some strangers in a much-too loud party of their own? 

They'd moved on long ago, leaving you leaning against the only building that appeared to be inhabited- if the lights within weren't a dead giveaway- as your fingers tap away at the surface of a gently scratched cell, much loved and taken care of. You didn't exactly have the money lying around to buy yourself five more. As you unlock your phone and wait for the texts to load, your fingertips gather the streamers wrapped around your arms, throwing them down with a tired groan. The glowstick necklace around your neck soon joined it, the lavender light within buzzing for a moment before flickering out. 

Sighing, your eyes fall to the texts sent to a groupchat titled 'Prague's Party Central', seeing your last three texts being delivered... and unread. 

Wonderful. Just peachy. 

Might as well find shelter here for the night. 

Ducking into the very building you'd been leaning against, noting door left ajar ever so slightly and dimly lit within, you settle on your temporary stay. 

You hoped the people inside didn't mind as much, but before you could think on it any longer, there's a loud _bang_ of the metal door you'd tugged open further. Seems like your temporary shelter would last a bit longer- if the slam of the entrance's only door behind you didn't signal that, with your efforts to pull it open failing- and make your way through town in the daylight, once most of the drunk crowds and revelers had left the streets painted with strips of sunlight and old confetti. 

Hugging the gauzy black shirt you wore to your body, the dull sound of muted voices runs throughout the building, calling your attention to the sound. Someone- or hopefully, some people, plural, who could help? You didn't exactly expect Spider-Man's European counterpart Night Monkey to be around the corner, but a friendly face was everything.

Ahead of you, there were a few pillars beyond a wide entrance opening- where you'd caught sight of what looked to be the back of a motion capture suit, fitting the body it was worn on rather snugly. Thank god for your background in film and special effects, a course taken to earn yourself some extra credits in university. 

The figure tilts it's head, looking down at the gauntlet before their head snapped in your direction -undoubtedly a result of the door slamming shut- for just a moment, as they looked back down at the screen on their wrist easily. What was that all about? Quickly slipping around behind one of the still standing pillars, you brace against the cool marble, looking through the gaps at the scene beyond. 

Wait. 

Was that another one of those monsters? 

Was that _Mysterio?_

What the hell was happening? 

A being that looked like a thunderstorm given sentience and physical life swirls in the center of the room, being blasted by emerald swirls of a smoke-like substance. The very magic you'd heard (and seen on the news) being possessed by Mysterio. Echoes of loud screeching cries swirl around the room with each impact made by the illusionist, all watched impassively by the man you'd seen the back of earlier. Still hadn't gotten the chance to see his face.

"Pause." 

Oh, his voice was baritone. Wonderful. Going straight to your heart.

Right before your eyes, the image freezes, leaving Mysterio frozen in midair- as if it was some sort of movie, or recording being played. 

What? 

"I'm not in love with this chorography, but it'll do. Kill image."

And as your eyes widen, the image melts away, peeling into lines of blue waves pushing together before fading. Was that all f a k e? Was Mysterio just that-- a lie? 

"Decloak drones." 

Either you fell asleep somehow and was having the worst lucid dream of your life, or Mysterio was the biggest lie of a superhero to ever exist. 

"Alright, weapons?" 

"You wanna weaponize them?" 

"Yup."

"Weapons only, standby." 

A quiet whine fills the air as the drones only begin their seemingly coordinated flight, what looked like a swarm of them chasing down a single drone as electric charges travel through the machinery, just barely enough to knock some dust away from the sculpture and pillars they'd flown through. Decent enough, but the minimal damage wasn't enough to soothe the fear rising in your chest. 

If Mysterio was making these creatures out of his tech-

There never was a threat. He'd formed them himself.

A smooth alto voice snaps you out of your thoughts, having emanated from the figure standing a mere twenty feet away from you. Annoyance was clear in each syllable of his words, making the goosebumps across your skin prickle anxiously. 

"Ugh- stop." 

You didn't even know any of the people here, but that tone to the man's words had you inching away just a touch.

"-you know what? Double the damage, and then run it again." 

"Double it?" 

"Double the damage and run it again." 

From what you'd seen, the damage had already been good enough- what was this guy after? 

Your mouth falls open halfway in awe at the scene playing out, watching as the drones seem to move in formation, guns whirling as bullets decimate the pillars not unlike the ones you were currently hiding behind. Illusions solidifying once more left that same monster, being attacked by the figure of Mysterio. What had formerly been a decent electrical shock dancing between surfaces now left twin piles of dust along the ground as 'Mysterio' turns around, blasting the creature- 

And a beautiful emerald burst splits the air, punctuated by a joyous exclamation from the man.

"Good! Yes, that's good!" 

And for reasons you can't explain, he turns around, eyes piercing the pillar where you're hiding for the space of a few seconds before a thin smirk curls across his gleeful veneer, gone by the time he turned back. That simple glimpse at his features knocks the air out of you, seeing icy blue irises fixing so close to your form. The victory alight within them didn't help matters. Neatly trimmed stubble hugged his sharp jawline, every lock of hair upon his head being kept in place, without a single fiber falling. 

Why did Mysterio have to be h o t ?

Fuck. 

Did he know you were here? 

No, there was no way- he hadn't seen you.

Your fingers dig into pale stone as you duck backwards, heart rate taking a quick spike upwards as your breathing grows jagged, the words in the background fading below the rush of blood thrumming. He hadn't seen you, did he? You can't die, not yet, not at the hands of a liar like him, and not at the hands of an attractive poser, at that. The occasional filter of 'London' and 'casualties' filtered through, only icing your blood further. 

"London is a beautiful city, but they will rebuild."

Take a breath.

In, and out. 

Taking your third deep breath, you're snapped out of the 'bubble' of sorts you were in by the sharp uptick in volume from back out in the main area- Mysterio's voice had taken a sharp drive upwards, sounding irritated about something, an issue that had come up- and fuck human biology for releasing adrenaline, fuck every single part of your brain that had decided his voice was hot and released oxytocins. 

"You're telling me this now?" 

Oh, god. 

That suit gracing his figure didn't help matters either, leaving you blatantly staring at the designs on the gold and maroon cape as it moves on it's own. No wind, indoors- and yet, your eyes track the man within as he steps forward, infuriation clear in his vocals for each and every word uttered. The suit itself- the one you'd glimpsed him wearing on the news, and admired before for it's fine make and craft- remains hovering, hanging behind as that familiar mosiac of grey fabric emerges. 

"That projector is evidence. It tells people what we're doing, and exactly how we're doing it. I am trying to fool seven billion people here, including Nick Fury, who happens to be the most paranoid and most dangerous person on the planet. And if he catches onto what we're doing before I've killed him, then he will put a bullet in my head. And no one wants a bullet in their head, r i g h t?" 

What have you gotten yourself into? 

Your breath hitches at the sight of drones flying down, training their sights onto Mysterio's own crew, people he knew and presumably trusted- and so willing to off them without a second thought. Just like that, fear-training them into line. 

How would you fare if they found you? 

"William, can you look at me? Pull up EDITH." 

EDITH...the name wasn't familiar to you. Not a superheroine, no names came to mind either. 

"Hello, Quentin." 

"Yeah, hi honey." 

Oh my god. 

Two things were the only items of note by your fear-stimulated mind- his name was Quentin, and he sounded incredibly hot saying 'honey', which was only more unfair than his looks being a complete twist of his personality.

"I need a level-five search, full resource protocol for this device." [Identifying.] 

There was a set urgency to his tone, carrying a brisk energy along with it as though he were merely handling business as usual, expecting a bump like that and yet still frustrated by it's very appearance. Despite yourself, your fingernails inch around the circumference of the pillar below your hands, clenching the material to get a better view of the room beyond. 

"There. Search e v e r y t h i n g going in and out of that building."

[Located.] 

Your eyes remain trained on the screen as the green-tinted display shows the image before-showing the figure of a girl and a boy, both on the younger side, holding a piece of tech, before the boy's face comes into view- and the figure lets out a deep sigh. He wasn't familiar to you, but, obviously the man knew exactly who he was. 

"Shit. You know, William, one day, after I've had to kill Peter Parker because of this, I hope you remember that _his blood_ is on _your hands!"_

Well, you'd really done it to yourself this time.

The man behind the monitors far above on the lattice looks down at his screens as Quentin speaks once again, sighing in utter frustration as he rakes a hand through his hair and locks his arms across his chest tightly. 

"EDITH, darling? Set up a new protocol." 

[Affirmative. Protocol function?] 

"Send a drone to tail Peter Parker. Each second he's out of our sight, have a camera recording a live feed being saved for review. Cloak the drone and allow it to access security cameras and as many possible minutes of footage as it can get." 

[Yes, Quentin. Name of protocol?] 

"Pet sitting." 

[Pet Sitting Protocol: Active. Drone entering atmosphere.] 

_Pet Sitting Protocol?_

Danger, danger, danger. Every word leaving Quentin's mouth was laced with malice, and that's when you realize something you probably should've the moment you came in here in the first place. 

Maybe it was time for you to take your leave.

Maybe you'd realized that a bit too late. 

Maybe...you were already too deep in. 

Realization quickly dawns on you as a soft groan fills your ears, realizing that something was about to fall-- and there. Right behind you, right at the moment you were plotting your chosen escape, the chunk of stone carved out of the still-standing pillar you were leaning against falls over, having been knocked off balance with an unaware push of your foot.

Too in a rush to notice.

But there isn't a single possible way that the people beyond wouldn't notice the sound, at the very least. That they would't sent someone to go look, ordered by the man you'd seen earlier- undoubtedly the face below the mask of Mysterio, and you had to tell someone, you had to find the police and tell them- but you had to be alive for that. 

You had to be free. 

Fingernails dig into the surface of the pillar below your hands as your form tries to sink into shadow, trying to hide in the limited space the erected marble pillar offered you beyond it's silhouette. The cool marble digs into your back in place, textured over with cracks webbing through the white material that still managed to pinch your skin each time it was caught- but you stayed quiet. 

Despite your best attempts, there's a pair of heavy footfalls advancing towards your very position, the previous murmurs and quiet talk throughout the crew you'd seen falling silent without a single command. Your eyes slip shut, murmuring a string of pleas to whatever gods existed that he got distracted, that he was pulled aside by a member of his crew- 

No such luck.

The man after you had more resources at his fingertips than you had coherent, unaffected thoughts. 

"It appears we have a spy in our midst."

Wait. Was that baritone before you? 

Ah, wonderful.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come in this way, I got turned around by a parade out back that pushed me in the wrong direction by accident and I came in here to take a moment to myse-" 

He holds up a broad, scarred palm, that single motion and the hardened look in his eyes enough to shut you up. Suddenly, you wished you'd worn more than just a pair of black pants and a plain black top to go with it. Why couldn't you have been more... dressed? 

Why couldn't you feel less vulnerable right now? 

Maybe it had something to do with the look in the man's eyes. His storm-blue eyes fixed onto your features before trailing for a moment, as though scanning you for how much of a possible threat you'd be. How easy it would be to pull his gun out, right now, and get rid of a loose end. To paint the marble behind you with scarlet and merely command Guterman to place your body in the canals outside town- perhaps in the Vltava river. 

Right below the Charles Bridge. 

They used to execute people there.

But instead, he merely snaps his fingers, seemingly mulling over a thought as he walks out from your field of view, calling to the rest of the crew outside. 

"You know, I can handle it. All of you- run downstairs to the basement and watch over the feed. Calibrate the backup drones while I take care of the problem. William, keep EDITH running. I'll need her help." 

Terrifyingly methodical. 

His voice carries a dominant tone to it, the tone of a man who was used to being listened to and continuously got each and every whim of his satisfied. What he wanted, he got. 

William, high above behind his many monitors and screens all ultimately hooked up to a certain glass sphere in the upper left corner of his desk, swallows the dryness in his throat away. Every time Quentin addressed him directly, it sent a spiral of fear down the man's spine, always so timid and used to following on other people's orders for them. All he was meant to do was listen. 

And that's what Quentin expected from them. 

Every last member of the crew had seen Quentin when he was truly upset- going so far as to train drones with laser sight-guns on their heads, just minutes ago, and none of them wanted that experience again. 

Truthfully? 

Most of them never wanted to be spoken to directly when Quentin was in full planning mode, knowing exactly the type of mood he was in and his involuntary shift into growing more severe if they so much as uttered a word out of line. Poor William. The weakest willed (and easiest swayed) of the bunch, he was the one that often faced Quentin in that mood. 

Which is why he knew how to reply. 

"I gotcha, Quentin." 

Just nod and go. 

And that's exactly what he did, pushing his chair back and giving the helmet on his desk one final look. Wires hooked up to both the computer and a pair of blue-lensed Foster-Grants on their own pedestal wreaths the top corner, the result of countless hours of planning and scheming and manipulating and sneaking and lying. Plenty of sticky-fingered snatching from the files of Stark Industries, but it had all been worth it.

That, and the manipulation of a few key people. Not names anyone would know of course... small ones. Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Peter B. Parker, the entire world with some key footage played across the news... nothing too big. 

L'uomo Del Mysterio, as the Italians had so fondly put it, would be the face known around the world.

But that would only happen if there were no loose ends. 

And unfortunately... you were standing right in front of Quentin Beck, the one loose end he had beside Peter Parker and his little girlfriend. He could barely work up the courage to even talk to her; nothing would happen.

"I'm sorry, I swear, I didn't see anything- I just meant to find a place to take a breath before trying to find my friends, I never meant to intrude on you and your-" 

Your words peter off as you realize there's no... real word you can land on to describe them. Associates? 

Evil co-workers? 

People helping you kill off London as you know it? 

"How long were you here?" 

Dead-set. Ignoring your words before, stormy blue eyes digging into your own. Cutting straight to the center of why he'd come around here in the first place, eyes scanning you like a predator corning his next meal- and from the hardened marble behind you, pressing into your skin as you tried to phase through the material and r u n, several minutes too late- that was what you were.

And well, if you were going to die, right here, you might as well draw up whatever defiance you had left. 

"I saw everything- I saw you fake the monster attack! The- the tempest, the storm-monster, whatever that was. You're Mysterio, but Mysterio isn't real, he's just a liar in a motion capture suit with drones!" 

So maybe your desperation to flee had turned itself into anger.

"You're- you're willing to kill so many people for what?! You're just a fucking liar, you've deceived the whole world- and people need to know your lies!" 

Oh, that hole you were digging yourself into wasn't growing any smaller by the second. But you weren't going to die begging a man who'd endangered entire cities for his own personal gain to spare your life. 

It doesn't help that the man's only reaction was the unimpressed slant of an eyebrow, stepping closer by the moment and trapping you against the pillar- the benches thrown to either side making it so even if you did try to run, you'd end up face-down against the concrete. Doing, what the kids called, eating shit. 

Your eyes fall, refusing to maintain eye contact with the man any longer before they catch the glint of something metal strapped into a holster along the man's thigh-- a gun, and you had a feeling that the illusionist was more than capable of handling it to shut you up without any unnecessary fight.

"In light of their new hero, Mysterio, everything will fade away. It always does, for heroes. Everything magically just becomes irrelevant , the second the greater threat gets wiped out- and that's exactly what I plan to do. Of course, that can only happen if I don't have any _loose ends._ " 

Quentin's lips twitch into an unnerving smirk, biting into you- and the next words uttered don't help your current situation. Fear's already curling along each vertebrae of your spine, a sharp contrast to the fleeting warmth the building had offered. 

"EDITH, dispatch two drones to my location for a new target. Weapons at the ready."

Wait. 

The drones' whirr floats away as if on a phantom wind, flying over beside Quentin to hover above his shoulders with ease. Now that they're up close, their sheer size seems imposing- of course, it doesn't have anything to do with the sudden presence of a whirling gun on their underbellies. If you could see yourself, there would be a laser dot trained against the center of your forehead, that brave demeanor starting to drop for a mere moment. 

"I don't think they'll find out _anything."_

Before you can say a word, your mouth reacts faster than your head, yet again.

"Go ahead. My friends are expecting me for a party in twenty minutes, they'll know something's wrong if I don't show up." 

Lying through your teeth, but it was a strategy that worked before to get you out of tight situations. You figured that tactic of 'going missing with someone waiting for you' would only corner the man, but unluckily for you... 

"EDITH, scan for any devices on the target." 

His eyes lock onto yours. 

[Located. One cellular device.] 

"Scan recent messages." 

That's where you interject, pushing yourself up off the pillar and raising a hand in protest before Quentin merely takes another step forward, the height he had over your smaller frame (and just the dominance he gave off helping him loom over you) silencing you halfway through your mere sentence. 

"Don't invade my messages, you cr-" 

[Scanning.] 

Quentin's technology-formed gauntlet gleams with light as the man's broad fingers swipe across the surface, gliding over the display and throwing a screen of your recent messages into the air. Showing your last few messages you'd been able to send about ten minutes ago, left unread then, and still unread now. 

"It seems like you've lied to me about that. Your friends have l o n g forgotten about you."

The last spark of hope that you'll be able to escape with everything about you still intact- your being, your life- begins to dim, barely able to stay alive in that dark stare's focus onto your own, boring down into you.

He's an enigma. 

The man across from you is a fractal, constantly ever changing the more you tried to understand him and his words, to try and predict his actions before he ever did them. The thoughts sure to be swirling within his mind are locked away, unknown to anyone except himself- and that feeling sends a chill up your spine, knowing your fate and your possible ability to wake up tomorrow morning was in his court. 

Your life was within this deceiver's hands.

There's already another plea on your lips as you realize how thoroughly caged in the man has managed to get you; your back pressed against an aged marble pillar with fallen benches and props on either side of you, effectively cutting off your escape route. Two drones had their sights set on you- and not to mention the man before your stance, advancing with each step before he's cornered you, inches away. 

Each wire connected to communication devices and every glow of the gauntlet's screen could be seen with ease, due to how close he was, but your breathing only tightens up further, pressing away from Quentin's frame easily dwarfing yours. Broad shoulders and easily built arms pressed you in, and all he'd done was rest a hand above your head, right above you. 

"Tell me why I shouldn't give EDITH the kill command right now and rid myself of a loose end?"

At the sound of a kill command, your spine stiffens, gritting your teeth together as eyes trail upward, locking onto your captor's with no other choice. 

"I won't tell a soul, I promise. Monitor me, whatever you want, just know that no one besides my own memories will know." 

But at the smirk extending, the only sensation running through you was that of cold fear, realizing that.. you'd likely said the wrong answer, and only fallen closer and closer into his trap, with your words allowing you to fall in. Tripped over your own tongue. 

"Your memories is one person too many. Why shouldn't I keep you here and stop you from ever even getting the chance?" 

Being stuck here forever under _his_ men and his gaze? No, no no- you had a life of your own and friends to return to, a job that you didn't hate, and an apartment to return to and pass out in, thinking of this night as nothing more than a bad dream and refusing to speak of it ever again. 

Telling your friends that you'd taken an early night by accident and fallen asleep while in bed.

And never, never opening your mouth about what you'd seen here tonight...except to one person and one group that might be able to help you. S.H.I.E.L.D. had to help you, somehow, considering the kind of threat Mysterio posited, so despite your words, you would always be a threat to Quentin and his crew. 

The illusionist knew that. 

Leaving you would be far from the sensible decision to make here, and that's why the man only draws closer, making you instinctively raise your hands and press them against his chest, forcing yourself to focus on the aspects of the man that were a direct threat. Not the aspects that you marveled at, the plane of firm muscle below your hands that didn't give in despite your attempt to push him away. 

"Get away from me-"

Quentin's chuckle is quieter, but none of his malice had been lost- only increasing, in fact, due to the small detail of his voice growing darker with the quiet decrease of his volume. He's forcing you back against the pillar, making your spine whine softly from the constant rough surface against your back as the curve of marble draws you unwillingly closer. His eyes almost seem to read you easier than you were able to understand yourself, darkened blues seeming to drop a shade in the dimmer lighting. 

Almost black, at this point. 

"You don't want me to." 

You can barely move out from the spot he's pinned you against, fingers pressed up against the array of diamonds interspersed with dots- appearing like abstract pieces of artwork that imitated the look of several eyes. A soft green glow signaling active tech gleams between your index and middle fingers on either side, still pushing back roughly against the curve of the inventor's chest. 

"Fuck off-" 

His eyes dance with a foreign light you couldn't figure out, only pulling on that cold feeling settling in the base of your stomach as fear ices your spine, trying to push Quentin back even just a few inches, giving you some leeway. All you'd managed to yield was barely two inches of space. 

"I don't even know your damn name, let me go! I won't be able to tell people who you are!"

All you knew was the man's first name, having managed to snatch it from the echo of the mysterious female voice that seemed to be a sort of AI for the tech Quentin's team used, a pair for the very drones hovering feet away. 

_Quentin._

You liked it- just a bit- but you'd never tell the man that, you'd never tell him anything other than to let you g o. 

"You're lying to me. It's almost sweet how badly you're willing to lie and cheat me to escape."

"Fuck y-" 

The rather profane words leaving your lips were cut off by the sound of another door opening, from where the crew had previously filed out- and the sound of a woman's voice filters through the room, perhaps your savior? 

"Quentin, William needs you, he says something's going on with the calibration on the tech." 

You're shuffling to try and shift out of the tight hold he's gotten you in, but before you can say anything, his right hand comes up harshly, palm pressing against your lips as his fingertips dig into the left side of your jaw, wincing softly from the tight grasp against your skin. All you can hope for is no bruises, because if there were any when your friends inevitably came around to see you tomorrow- not the morning, they would likely have wicked hangovers- they'd have plenty of questions about the pale pink and red bruises shaped like a crescent in your jaw. 

And they'd accuse you of finding someone to sleep with, of course, and that would be a talk in and of itself- but that would only happen if you _got out of here._

Quentin's eyes drill into your own, wide with shock and anger at the way he'd clamped his hand over your lips. A quiet threat passes between his own as his fingers tighten, drawing a pained whine from you at the feeling of his fingertips digging in. 

"Even try to get away, and you'll only make it worse for yourself." 

You're barely able to even shift as the illusionist's voice almost melts back to normal with ease, addressing the female who'd walked out. 

"Well, tell William I'll be there when I can. Tell him to restart the second generator from the left on the backside of the drones. They tend to overheat at times and ruin the calibration process, I've told him this before." 

Irritation was clear in the man's tone as he sighs, receiving a reply almost instantly that was followed up by the sound of quick heels clicking away. 

"Yes, Quentin." 

You could hardly wait to be alone again. Hooray. 

Despite his command, you still try to pull his hand off as your own hands move back, gripping Quentin's wrist with both of your own and using whatever strength you had left in you to force the man's fingers away, but all you'd managed is a short gap that was almost instantly put back in place. 

The man before you doesn't say a word until the door closes once again, eyes flaring the moment they make contact with you again. Despite yourself, you can feel a coil of heat join the chill in your gut, staring into the eyes of the man before you. Rage was clear on his features as he pushes his hand back further, before he appears to have gotten a dark idea; one you can tell he's received by the way his lips turn into that slice of such a rough smirk. 

One of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. 

Your eyes widen as Quentin, almost casually shifting, as though it were any other movement, lifts his knee, pressing it between your legs and almost forcing them apart. To avoid him even t o u c h i n g you there, your thighs had shifted, moving with your feet to the sides. The action, however, only presented the man with another chance to push closer, one hand still over your mouth muffling your interjections. 

"I think I know what you can do in exchange for your l i f e."

Quentin's smirk rests as you're trying to shift under the new development, pushing forward for a moment to stop the feeling of marble digging into the column of your spine. And that's when you realize what sort of game the man's playing at- with your shift, you're pulled forward for a moment along the surface of grey fabric, placed so delicately against the junction of your thighs. 

Before you realize it, Quentin's moving his thigh u p, directly against your core through the black pants and causing a startled gasp to leave your lips as a shudder runs through you.

What doesn't help your case is the way you've jolted from the movement, dragging yourself forward and applying more pressure to the seam of your pants running _exactly_ down the center of your legs, pressing against you and helping support Quentin's thigh with the pressure sealing against you. With your action, the man himself grins, leaning closer with a razor-blade smile. 

_"This is exactly what you want."_

God, you couldn't even lie to him. 

Lying to him at this point would be worse than telling him the truth, considering the position you were in- hands having fallen back to rest against Quentin's chest with your fingers bracing themselves against sleet-gray clothing, your legs so shamelessly split across a single one of the man's thighs. 

"Quen-" 

Before the first utterance of the illusionist's name can befall your lips, Quentin chuckles softly, pressing his palm against your lips as your eyes widen. His voice seems to fall another three tones in the exact sentence uttered; but that might just be the way your body was rapidly heating up from the constant heat below you. You're quickly realizing what the dark light in his eyes was, the one you hadn't been able to identify; a d e s i r e, almost wickedly gleaming. 

"For the next hour, you're my personal fucktoy, understand?"

Were you really about to accept this? 

A one night stand- god, you didn't even know if it would go that far, or anywhere close to it- for information that could potentially save all of London. 

But fuck, was it hard to think anything even coherent when Quentin moves for the first time, thigh dragging forward before pushing right back into the pillar. He'd clearly done this before (not the teasing behind a pillar, obviously, but with a man like him who had those looks, for all you knew this HAD happened before) with the way he was drawing you around, pulling a gasp broken in two from between your lips. 

Before you realize it, a single word of your acceptance leaves you. 

_"Yes."_

Anything to make him stop torturing you like this.

You nearly take it back, however, at the smirk that crosses Quentin's lips with that three-letter word.

"If you want me so badly, honey, you have to work for it." 

You'd be absolutely destroyed if this illusionist was into dirty talk, with that baritone of his. Then again, knowing him and what you'd seen and experienced so far?

You were screwed. 

But you had a more pressing issue on your hands; namely, the fact that you were merely resting your weight on the top of Quentin's thigh, the man having stopped his movements with a grin on those roseate lips. From the words having ghosted between them just mere seconds before, you take a steadying breath, fingers curling into the fabric of the mocap suit below your palms as your feet brace against the ground, moving forward slowly to grind against Quentin, cheeks blooming with a fresh shade of red you hadn't allowed before. 

The situation you were in was nothing short of completely exposing, so he couldn't hold that again you- right? 

With how your body weight was pressed down against the muscle entirely, a soft shudder runs through you from Quentin's actions, prompting him to remove his hand for a moment. 

"For all those shameless noises you'll be making. You need an audience for them, right?"

Scratch your earlier assumption off the list; you were much more than screwed. 

Just to prove a point, you drag your lower lip between your teeth, keeping any short gasps or moans about to escape your lips firmly restrained inside as your hips drag a slow pace out, each roll and cant bringing a new sound to nearly bubble over as your eyes remain fixed _anywhere_ but on Quentin, knowing your actions were just balancing on the edge of rebellious.

"You can't play games with me, darling." 

Before you're able to utter another word, Quentin's lunging forward, unhooking your lip from the grasp of your teeth with his own, resulting in a power-tilted kiss that was all teeth and tongue- and so obviously dominated by the man before you. Every noise you tried to make, every inch of fight you'd had- it all seems to drain away with that contact, your lower body freezing for a moment before the illusionist pushes upwards, jolting a startled moan from you that he took with ease.

"Qu-" 

The mere utter of his name was pushed back as you feel his murmur against your lips, such a clear-cut command in that s a m e tone you'd heard him commanding EDITH with earlier. 

_"Move, honey, or you'll just be another pretty face to dispose of."_

And who were you to resist? 

Every moan and gasp fleeing your split lips falls into Quentin's own waiting mouth, swallowing the sound as his lips push against yours. Your hips below, however, were left to fend for themselves against the solidly built thigh, rotating your hips forward as a particularly pointed movement has your core surging with pleasure. A staggered moan falls, only met with a twin chuckle from the deceiver across from you- god, you were doing this for a quick fuck. 

Your actions only meet a mocking laugh as the illusionist pulls back, words murmured with a dark light within blues rapidly falling shades deeper. Was it just the light, or was it the power he grasped within his control, in this very moment?

"I don't think I even had to tell you the notion of being my fucktoy. You already wanted me, by the way you were rutting on my thigh like a bitch in heat. Go on." 

All you wanted, in this moment, was to tell the man to keep his mouth shut- your embarrassment was already mounting with the scarlet spreading across your features, and you'd never let yourself live it down if he was able to tell just how much his talk was going right to your stomach. Arousal pools from the utter sin leaving Quentin's lips, and you're left twisting your hips at a higher agitated pace, trying to climb that crest as your eyes grow half-lidded. 

Your irises focus on the gray fabric instead of on the man himself, pressing your eyes shut each time a particularly well-placed movement sent pressure lancing through your lower half, whimpering quietly as quiet words leave your lips, almost stammered from the utter hesitation you'd had to hold back. 

"Quentin, fuck y-" 

You could barely even voice the disdain for the man's actions- and effective method for shaming you, from Quentin's words alone- in your tones, jolting by the way he pressed his thigh into you particularly harshly the moment the profanity had fled from between your lips. A shocked gasp fled instead, gritting your jaw tightly as shame races through in waves. 

"That's only if you're a good little toy, honey. And right now, I have half a mind to simply kill you." 

There's a click of metal as Quentin's fingers draw a certain weapon from the thigh holster you'd noted before on his opposite leg, placing the tip of the gun against your lips, keeping them pressed together. Your eyes snap open at the mere sight of midnight metal at your lips, such a contrast to the slightly agape skin. The click of the safety drawing back and flipping off from the man's thumb only caused your eyes to widen, but no words left you.

Well, if that wasn't a surefire way to make sure you kept your mouth shut. 

Your heartrate only picks up with the introduction of the weapon, but you breathe shakily, guiding yourself along once more as your elbows bend with the closeness of Quentin's body, fingers curling into the suit's make with each twist of your hips. A knot slowly builds in the pit of your stomach, drawing your lower lip in as your moans only increase in tempo, picking up volume with the increased speed. 

As much as you detested the man in front of you for putting such an offer on the table- and more so yourself, for taking it- you couldn't deny the pleasure it raked through your body, jolting as your eyes slip shut once more. The action of picking up speed hadn't been for his own satisfaction, but more yours. At this point, you were merely chasing your own pleasure, using Quentin's thigh as nothing more than a surface to gain it from as the desire seizes your thoughts, wanting the feeling of those waves to crash over you once you hit your peak- 

"Stop." 

_What?_

Quentin's voice fractures through your already dazed thoughts, blinking as your hips shudder to a stop. The gun at your lips was most of the reason behind your obedience, but it was partly a want to make sure he wouldn't follow through on his initial threat.

"What-" 

The same word echoing through your mind escapes your lips, trying to stop it from sounding as breathy (or whining, but you'd rather not think about sounding like you were complaining) as you believed it was, but to no avail. 

"You don't come until I tell you to, understand?" 

Oh, that wasn't fair, not in the slightest. 

You were already putting up with the torture he was putting you through, but with the vexation rising with you, it was only helping your euphoria ebb, much to your.. relief? If you weren't as desperate to come, being on the edge, it would likely help you with the standards Quentin had posited. If it wasn't for the gun at your lips, you had a half mind to snap at the man, something along the lines of 'screw you, quentin' mixed with a nice 'you haven't even done anything to help, who are you to order me around?' 

But, unfortunately, the gun _was_ at your lips.

Even if it wasn't, there was the issue of the twin drones, weapons hot.

And matters don't help when Quentin's hand strays to the waistline of your pants, slipping broad fingers below the line as his fingers undo the button of your pants with ease. Your own hands fall near his, torn between pushing the man's hands away or merely undoing them yourself- but Quentin makes that decision for you, grasping one of your own hands and moving them aside. 

"Toys don't get to undress themselves." 

Humiliation spikes through your cheeks as Quentin's moving back a step, allowing you to set your feet on the ground-however unsteadily- before closing that distance once more, fingertips grazing over material. The weapon previously held against your lips was back in it's holster, where you felt it belonged- lest he compelled you into doing much worse with that weapon as leverage. Nails dip under fabric as Quentin's calloused fingers brush along your skin, running a shiver through you emanating from your middle. 

With the proximity of his fingers against your skin (along with the previous statement he'd made, of course) Quentin's able to tug the cloth down, ring fingers curling into the sides of your underwear with ease. Along with the hangers-on, he was able to pull both pieces down, leaving them around your thighs loosely as he pushes the material further. 

Cold air wraps around your bare legs as goosebumps prickle, patterning the surface of your skin as Quentin's hands move away from you, allowing your undergarments and pants to fall to the ground below you with ease. 

The man's eyes practically ravage the new expanse of bared skin, a wicked smirk curling along stubble-trimmed roseate lips. You have half a mind to drop your hands, but there's a fire curling through you at the hunger sparkling in Quentin's eyes, spurring you on as well.

 _"Beautiful, honey."_

Such mocking praise- but just what you needed, to continue your salacious actions. 

He didn't even have to prompt you to step out of the fabric around your ankles; for you were already performing those actions. Pushing it aside, your gaze turns back to Quentin's- to see him giving you another order. 

Quentin merely tilts his chin towards the black top on your torso, his palms grasping the edge of your shirt as your arms raise willingly; allowing the illusionist to pull the material up and over your head without a second thought. Your top joins the pile of textiles a few feet away from the two of you, and your own palms stray closer to the illusionist, clearly desiring for you both to be on even footing- on the basis of your clothing, of course. Outside of that, there was no way you could meet his level, like he'd ever allow you to. 

But the moment your hands stray closer, in order to reach for the zipper running down the center of Quentin's torso, he clicks his tongue disapprovingly, causing your fingers to still mere inches away from the piece of metal. 

"Ah ah ah. Hands to yourself." 

The mocking tone along each alluring word has you moving your hands away as Quentin tends to his own clothing, knowing full well the detail of your irises being trained upon the sight. He's drawing a hand along the black straps falling along either side of the zipper, rolling them off his shoulders with ease as broad fingers clasp the black metal of the zipper you'd previously tried to unzip yourself, and drags it down torturously slow-- for the sole purpose of making you a hiss a "Quentin, c'mon." under your breath. 

"Patience, pet. After all, this was meant to be the only way you got out of here alive, and you like it? This goes down on my terms." 

That's enough to shut you up, merely watching as the fabric of the suit peels away, Quentin tugging his arms out from the triangle-patterned sleeves gracing his biceps and forearms. The slightly-tan skin below catches your gaze, eyes remaining trained on how innocuously strong he was under the fabric dwarfing him- but there's a much bigger distraction on your hands, with the suit across Quentin's chest being pulled down and away to expose a tight black tee worn below.

The suit rests around his hips as he attends to the shirt without another moment to spare, twisting his figure with ease as the shirt's peeled away, tossed aside to join your own; as it exposes a muscled torso, traversed with the slightest tint of darker brown hair across his chest leading down. There's another trail going along the planes of his stomach, thinning out slightly as it dips below the fabric hiding the sight you desired to see- if the arousal dampening your core once more didn't indicate. 

Quentin's hasn't missed the way your eyes traverse each dip and curve along his chest, a velvet-like laugh emanating from between his lips as the fabric's being pushed lower, trailing each and every glance of your eyes as they catch the path leading to Quentin's hard-on, visible through the mere fabric. 

"My eyes are up here, honey."

As your eyes tear away from the sight- with difficulty, of course, Quentin merely chuckles, drawing in closer as his hands continue to move the material down along the planes of his torso. 

The lower half of the motion capture suit tugs down around well-muscled thighs, followed by the boxers that had previously hid the sight of Quentin's dick from you. And now that the fabric barrier was gone, able to be breached with ease- there wasn't a way around the truth you'd always known, in some aspect. 

God, he was big. 

Quentin's dominance and natural ability to control situations wasn't a lack of self-confidence, as your eyes landed on- and widened slightly, from the desire coiling within your core- the man's freed cock, but your attention was torn away by the feeling of the illusionist's hands grasping your thighs with ease and _lifting_ you up. Your back, bare as it was, nearly arches away from the cool surface of the pillar as he presses you against it, fingertips digging into the skin of your thighs. 

A stunned gasp fled your lips even before hearing Quentin's next words, almost instinctively resting your forearms against his shoulders, hands falling behind him. 

"Legs around my waist."

Lucky for you, you truly had wanted to do that, rather than merely having your legs below you- you hadn't needed the man's orders, for once. 

With the way Quentin's already supporting your weight against the pillar and within his own (tightened) grasp, you're able to easily lift your legs and wrap them around his waist with ease, only baring yourself further with the way your thighs spread apart and pressed your slick heat against Quentin's own cock with a sudden jolt and resulting moan fleeing you.

You're barely given a moment of reprieve before Quentin's guiding himself lower, pressing against your entrance with the mere tip- clearly not one for foreplay, in situations like this, where you were already breathing so raggedly from the mere temptation he was presenting you with. With the scrap of sanity you had left, you were able to stop from bucking forward and lowering yourself onto him, and your patience earns a reward- as Quentin's thrusting into you roughly, sheathed within you fully in a mere movement as a profane near-scream shatters from between your lips.

The sudden feeling of being filled causes your back to curl forward into Quentin's chest, head slumping against Quentin's shoulder as he barely offers you a chance to adjust yourself to the mere size of his cock filling your heat, drawing back out for a bare moment before pushing back into you and drawing an almost obscene moan from between your lips. A curse blends into your words as the sound of Quentin's own rough noises blend with yours, groaning from the sheer sensations. 

Almost fucking his frustrations from everything happening into you, really. A conduit, a toy- your only use was for his own pleasure, to funnel his anger and infuriation with his plan's loose ends into. 

With the sudden pleasure coursing through you, sending heat curling through every single nerve ending in your body, your teeth draw into Quentin's shoulder for a moment, muffling the seemingly-unstoppable moans falling freely around the firm muscle. Your lower back's having a nightmare of a time, however, meeting the surface for each of Quentin's thrusts and each time he'd pulled away- you could already feel the pain flowing, but any other sensation in the current moment was stifled by the pleasure setting you ablaze.

"Quentin-" 

His name's practically a despaired chant between your breathless moans, feeling your release rise from the endless thrusts turning you into a mindless mess. Breaking your resistance down, with whatever had been left of your defiance or urge to snap back, and being replaced swiftly with the rocking mess you were as you feel Quentin's hand dropping away from your thighs for a moment- only to twist into your hair; no trace of gentleness found as he tilts your mouth away from his skin, where clear bite marks leave their path. 

"It's not going to be that easy, honey- you can't hide your pretty little noises from me." 

For your attempt, however, Quentin's only breaking you apart harshly, striking your sensitive spot repeatedly as a keening cry's driven from you. Instead of your teeth sinking into the man's skin, it's your fingernails, now, sinking in and leaving lines across the man's upper shoulders and down the curve leaning to his upper arms as your fingers curl up and around. 

That familiar crest's rising up within you as you tighten, breathing cutting off sharply into ragged gasps with your focus falling on each of the man's thrusts to so desperately try and focus on the feeling of being so close to orgasm, so close to spilling over- 

"Remember what I said, pet." 

God, damnit all.

Quentin's command to not come until he'd told you to. It merely results in the way you're biting down on your lip harshly- as the pace of his thrusts don't slow down, only mounting in speed as though he was challenging you in the very moment he'd uttered those words cutting pleasure away from you. Think about anything but the man's actions, now, anything other than that-

It worked about as well as you'd expect: holding back for a few moments longer before Quentin's chuckling, rasping his approval for your own pleasure to crest and crash over you in waves against your ear as your head falls forward. White-hot pleasure lashes down your spine as you're crying out, falling over that cliff's edge into a numbing pleasure spreading across each over-active nerve gathering in your core. 

"Quentin-!" 

A cry of the man's name on your lips follows as he _continues_ to move, working you through your high as each movement seems exemplified by the mere oversensitivity sparking following the post-orgasm bliss, whimpering softly as you're only climbing that cliff again. There's a thin sheen of sweat covering both your bodies as Quentin moves in tandem, fingers digging into the tender skin below his palms as he bears them further into your thighs. 

With a glance towards your lips, Quentin's captured them once again into a messy kiss, all teeth and tongue pressing your head up against the marble behind you as his hands pull your legs up higher, angling his movements to piston deeper into you almost effortlessly. 

That familiar feeling's gathering once more, moaning helplessly into Quentin's mouth easily dwarfing your own with each of his movements utterly ravaging you without the slightest of interference or fight on your behalf. You're able to feel each and every one of his movements- and there's another sharp increase as Quentin groans, the sound utterly sinful as it falls upon your ears, eyes rolling back from the force of the thrusts slamming your back against the pillar's surface. 

Oh, you were going to have a field day tending to those bruises later on.

Quentin couldn't even give you the gracious feeling of a warning, a few mere minutes later as he darkly grunts against your lips, bottoming out within you as his cock stills for a moment before bringing you to your limit with his own release- bringing your own around from the sensation of Quentin filling you up, the feeling utterly sinful- yet satisfying you.

Your mind spins from the amount of times you've felt pleasure course through you, barely able to stand on your own two legs below. They're so locked into their position around the illusionist's waist, barely able to move with the number of harsh thrusts you'd gone through, back blooming with aching pain- and you'd surely have bruises tomorrow, littered across the skin. 

Quentin's still comfortably seated within you, the feeling almost familiar to you from the treatment you'd been through that had resulted in your form currently being in the state it was. Truth be told, you probably wouldn't have noticed it otherwise, from the fatigued blanket seeming to smother all other emotion at the moment. 

There's barely even a sound escaping from between your lips, other than the murmur of "Quentin-" escaping from your exhausted form. Forget about standing. 

If you even tried, there's about a 90% chance in your mind that instead of being able to stand up, you'd crash either to the cool flooring below you, or against Quentin's chest, feeling the arms of sleep start to pull you under as he moves back slightly, arms wrapped around your waist. The first tender touch you'd felt from the man's hands; however, it was anything but. He merely supports you as he walks back a step, easily able to carry your weight.

Despite being human, Quentin exhibited impressive strength, and that was on full display throughout every action he'd performed with you.

The last thing you're able to register before unconsciousness takes you is Quentin's derisive chuckle, softly murmuring a set of words you were barely able to catch. 

_"Maybe I'll keep you around as my own little toy."_

╚═══* .·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·. *═══╝ 

**Author's Note:**

> quentin beck isn't dead and i want that to be written on my gravestone
> 
> inspo: 
> 
> "wouldnt it be nice to just be Quentin Beck's fucktoy?"  
> -jade, 5:35am on 11/25/20
> 
> happy birthday, jade. i'm sure you oh-so-hate me after this.


End file.
